


Silent Conversations (title may change)

by I_am_thereal_moffat_tehe



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_thereal_moffat_tehe/pseuds/I_am_thereal_moffat_tehe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has (faked) died, and John didn't take it to well.<br/>Alright guys I'm working on this and I lost motivation, so I will work/finish this later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Conversations (title may change)

TV show: Sherlock  
Title: Silent Conversations  
Characters: Mental!John, Greg, Anderson, Ms. Hudson, Sherlock and Mycroft  
Word count:  
Description:  
Sherlock had died, and John isn't taking it so well.  
Hints of:  
John/Anderson, Sherlock/John. And a big hints of John/Greg ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). They're HINTS. Not actual things in this. If you're into Hudson/Anderson or whatever just ask I will do it  
Oh yea I use all the characters by their first name and not their last name (for example Anderson's first name is Philip so I will call him that.)  
Universe type:Universe alterations where no one knows that Sherlock faked his death (except Mycroft of course) 

John was sitting alone in 221B. Alone. Sad. Afraid.  
Sherlock had recently died, and John had taken it hard.  
John usually just read the news and sat in his chair. John couldn't come to remove Sherlocks supplies from the kitchen so he avoided going in there at all. He had a eating disorder after all so that helped him avoid it further. 

John had been sitting in his chair staring into nothing when he heard a soft knock at the door.  
"Hello?"  
The familiar voice said.  
It was Philip.  
"What do you want Philip?"  
John responded in a sharp tone.  
"Jeez. I just stopped to say hi."  
John turned around and looked at him. He had a stubble, a hideous Jumper on, and some jeans.  
"Hello?" Philip said aloud.  
John realized he was staring at Him,  
"Uh yea. You can mock me now."  
"Why would I d-"  
"Because others have. Just get on with it and leave."  
Philip had said nothing after that and left. 

Philip had spoken to Greg about Johns behavior.  
"You know Philip John did suffer like the rest of us, it just hit him harder because he lived with him, and, possibly was his love interest." Greg took a sip of his drink and set it down.  
"But it doesn't make sense. Who mocked him? We all suffered about what happened."  
"I don't know Philip. Something's should just be left unquestioned."  
Philip drank the rest of his cappuccino and left.  
Greg lied about what he said. He knew who mocked him. And he felt horrible.  
It was him. Greg felt angry at everything a little while after what happened to Sherlock and put his actions before anything. He felt jealous of John for some reason. He didn't know why and just lashed out at him. He accused John of pushing Sherlock to the edge and shoved and beaten John physically and mentally.  
Greg couldn't muster up the courage to go and apologize to John, so he avoid him as much as possible. 

John sat in his little chair in his little flat. No one talked to John anymore. Not even Martha Hudson. She would occasionally check on him, but usually just say " Hi " or " are you okay? ".  
One day past without a conversation of any type. Then another day. Then another. Then a week. Then a month without a single word from any of his former friends.  
Around the second month,  
John broke.  
John had violently gotten up from his chair, which knocked it over. He stormed out of the building before even Martha could say a word. John didn't even have a destination he just walked for hours on end.

"GREG! Johns missing!"  
Martha said yelling into her old white corded phone.  
Greg would usually say "not my division" to something like this, but this was John, and he was a little relieved that he was forced to look for him instead of trying to avoid it further.  
Greg put up patrols around the area searching for John.

John scurried down the long alleyways like a predator searching for its prey. He was hungry for something he didn't know, but he was about to find out. A man stopped John dead in his tracks.  
"Where you going little one? Hand over all your cash or you can say farewell to your head."  
John didn't have time for this guys bullshit. Despite the man being a lot taller, John had advantages.  
John quickly knock the man over by shoving the mans legs sideways, which made him fall over. Before the guy had time to react John kicked the mans tailbone with all his might, and fractured his coccyx. The man screamed in intense pain and agony.  
It felt good for John, though.  
John continued stomping on the tailbone until the man experienced so much pain he passed out. John decided that the man wouldn't contact the authority because he was doing bad things as well. He decided to let the man lay there to die alone.  
He stole the mans hooded jacket, even though it was a bit big, it would do him good for when the nights grew cold. John calmly walked away from the scene. It was easy for him to be silent because of his small down-to-earth body. He stepped with his heel first and then his toes. His eyes, carefully scanning his surroundings. 

After a week, some of Greg's patrols gave up. There was no sign of John anywhere, and nobody really ever talked to him anyway. Everyone soon gave up on the search for John Hamish Watson. Another soul forgotten. 

Almost a month after John was forgotten, missing persons begun to spring up. Lonely flyers of women and men decorate everywhere, all with a permanent smile on their faces, unknowing what will become of them, lost souls never to be found again. 

Philip had brought up the idea to Greg that it could be John, but it was swatted away quickly because he was known to have crazy ideas, and no one believed in his stories anymore. Greg was slowly becoming a alcoholic, and was trying to hide it from everyone. Molly had lost her fiancé because he was caught cheating on her. Martha had kept 221B the same and never touched it, and now it's sitting there, with the fallen chair, collecting dust.  
No one really spoke to each other unless it was on the topic of work. Everyone just soundly nodded at each other, sharing silent conversations.

Sherlock was preparing himself to go back to 221B, to tell John that he's alive and well. But Sherlock saw a look on Mycroft's face that told him otherwise.  
"What is it Mycroft?"  
Sherlock looked at his brother, with prying eyes.  
"Where are we really going?"  
"Oh, you're still going back to 221B."  
"But you're thinking elsewhere."  
Mycroft forced himself to look his brother in the eye.  
With two little words Sherlocks world fell.  
"Johns Missing."  
Sherlock hesitated, and then spoke.  
"How long?"  
"About a year now."  
Sherlock didn't say a word after that.  
When he opened the door to 221B he was so lost in thought he didn't hear Ms. Hudson scream.  
He didn't even notice her until he got hit by the frying pan she had.  
It was a blow to his shoulder, but it didn't cause very much pain.  
After some things got cleared up,  
He explained everything to Ms. Hudson, and Ms. Hudson explained everything to Him.

John was sitting alone under the streets of London in a small room. He had lived underground because he couldn't risk being scene by Greg or anyone for that matter. He searched through abandon metros and found the perfect spot. A old maintenance room. It was easy to hide bodies down here compared to living in a Flat. John had stolen a ultraviolet light so he could get a normal amount of Vitamin D to survive. John just stopped eating, and if he did, he would be on the verge of death. The only thing he would eat was the dead bodies that he had. They tasted good anyway. His body adapted to his surroundings quickly.  
Tonight he will feast for the first time in a while.  
John slid out into the gentle moonlight, prowling the streets of London.  
He weaved through the people, looking just for the perfect victim. John hadn't even realized he came close to 221B when he saw him.  
It was Sherlock.  
It had to be him.  
John silently hid in the shadows and had a good look at him. It was Sherlock, there was no doubt.  
He had to get closer.  
John would have angrily attacked him, but John was different now.  
When Sherlock came back inside, John followed in his shadow. When the door closed John could see that Sherlock was deep in thought. 

Sherlock had been laying on the couch, in his mind palace trying to figure out where John went to. He used a entire box of nicotine patches in a single day, and it didn't even help all that much. After a long day, he went outside to get a better perspective of things. Sherlock, after a moment or so he stepped back inside. His head was clouded to the point where he didn't notice a particular little man walk in with him.

After Sherlock finally went to bed, John looked through Sherlocks stacks of notes and ripped some up, and wrote some new ones just to fuck with Sherlock. He rearranged the furniture as well, and took all the working pens and took the ink out. He took all of the pencils and even the computer. John then hid in the basement apartment, and ate the rats and spiders that were down there.

Sherlock woke up the next day and went to go sit on the couch when he stubbed his toe on the back of his chair.  
Sherlock didn't even notice that he stubbed his toe while he say down and looked through the nights previous notes.  
Sherlock went to go and write more notes about what he deduced from his notes, but his pen didn't work. He forced himself to get up and and grab another pen. As he sat down, he found out that pen didn't work as well. He grabbed two more pens, both didn't work. Sherlock grabbed every pen he could find, and tried them all. Not a single one worked. Frustrated at this point he looked for a pencil. He didn't find a single one.

While Sherlock threw a fit, John went over to Scotland Yard and searched for Greg's car. He soon found it, and opened the sort with his screwdriver and Bobby-pin.  
He snuck into the back of the car, waiting quietly for Greg to come. A hour passed, and Greg got into his car to go home.  
John sprung up, screwdriver in hand, pressed up against Greg's neck.  
Greg immediately reached down for his gun, but John pushed on the screwdriver harder. Greg stopped mid-grab and looked into the rear view mirror to see who it was. He gasped in horror at John.  
"I'm sorry John I-"  
"Oh now look who's sorry, hmm. You SHOULD be sorry you little bitch!"  
"John, I was angry-"  
"And so was I!"  
John took his other hand and hit Greg's right shoulder. He yelped in pain but John pushed the screwdriver even harder.  
"What do you want John?!"  
"Drive me to your place. STEP ON IT OR YOU'RE DEAD!"  
Greg started the car and drove away from Scotland Yard. On the way there John took Greg's gun and tucked it away in his pants. He jumped in the passenger seat but he held his screwdriver to Greg's dick now so it would be harder to see. 

Sherlock had finally enough of looking around so he headed downstairs and asked Ms. Hudson for a pen. She gave him one and he headed back upstairs to start his notes. 

John had finished duckt-taping Greg to the bed so he wouldn't be able to walk away. John in earlier discovers found out that people can just get up and shuffle away on chairs, which he didn't want.  
John sat on Greg's Groin just to make him uncomfortable.  
"What do you want from me John? Get it over with."  
John slapped him across the face. Then again, then again, and again and again until his cheeks were raw.  
John began punching Greg in the raw spots on his face for maximum pain. Soon Greg's face was sprayed red all over.  
"Who's a bitch now?"  
Greg spit blood out of his mouth, and replied.  
"You are."  
Before John could punch him in the face they heard a light pounding beneath them.  
"Yoyo keep your sex down bro I'm tryin to watch my show."  
John immediately jumped off the bed and stomped on the floor.  
"Shut up you wank."  
"No you."  
"I'm going to kill you!"  
"Is that a threat bro?"  
While John was bickering with the man downstairs Greg tried to get out of the duckt-tape and call Sherlock, and succeeded.  
It rang once.  
It rang twice.  
He picked up.  
"Oh what the hell do you want now lestrade? I'm in the middle of trying to find John!"  
"Sherlock, he taped me to the bed at my flat. You have to come-"  
"I'm coming stay there."  
The call ended.  
Greg put his phone away before John could see he took a call.  
"Hey John this is getting boring. Hurry up will you?"  
"Ah, yes. Where was I?"  
John jumped back on the bed and began punching him in the jaw.


End file.
